


For the Love of Water

by corvusdraconis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, F/M, Familiars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape finds an unexpected friend after the Second Wizarding War that changes his life forever. (Originally posted of ffic dot net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Love of Water

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: EWE: [HG/SS] One-shot, hope you enjoy it.  
> Disclaimer: Characters you recognise, probably JKRs. Not getting money for this. I’m playing in her sandbox with my own shovel and bucket. Rita Skeeter is still a daft cow. That is all.

Beta kudos: All hail fluffpanda, my new and glorious beta. She gets to read all my awesome and EPIC typos before you do. (I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not… but erm… good for ME anyway! Muah!

For the Love of Water

Severus was not the type to have a soft spot for anyone since Lily; he had told himself multiple times. He was not prone to emotional outbursts of sympathy, empathy, or overbearing softness. He was not, he argued, an emotional person. He didn’t care enough to comb his hair on most days, and while he washed it almost daily, standing around potions day in and day out did fantastic things to hair over time. One of them was what his demonstrated. His wardrobe was about as creative as funerary curtains, and the only things stylish he wore were his dragon-hide boots, which no one saw much of thanks to his robes.

He was completely unattractive. He’d stare at his crooked, almost yellow looking teeth. It wasn’t like he didn’t brush his teeth. For some reason, he had been born with the type of teeth that Muggles like to treat obsessively with hydrogen peroxide and plaster oddball whitening trips to in order to make them look “natural.” Well, his teeth were natural, he hated to say. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. His aquiline nose was a prominent sort, looking as though he’d stolen it off some Roman general’s sculpture and plastered it on his face. If there was anything remotely attractive about it, no one was telling him, not that he was going to listen to whatever nutter did try to tell him that.

Almost a decade of teasing and sneering at him, his looks, and his supposed lack of hygiene had made it impossible for him to see himself as anything anyone would desire. Looking back into the face of his father, Tobias, only reinforced that whatever he inherited from that side of the family. It made him even more outcast from the social dynamic.

As he stared down into the empty cauldron to start brewing his latest potion for the Hospital wing, he saw the soft brown curl of fur nestled in the bottom of his chosen cauldron and felt something.

Soft heaves moved tiny lungs in and out, and every so often a whisker twitched. Tiny black claws curved from two front paws, and two rear webbed feet, and a long furry tail curled around its body like a blanket.

A twitch seized in Severus’ chest as his pale hand reached into the cauldron and ran down the otter’s soft and densely oiled fur.

The otter’s black eyes opened, and she yawned widely, rubbing her face against his hand. He scooped her up in his arm, and she lay there, back against his arm, paws folded across her chest as she stared into his face.

“Hello,” he said softly. His voice was barely a whisper.

The otter reached up with her webbed paws and placed them on the side of his face. She pressed her muzzle to the side of his cheek and gave it a soft lick before she leapt up onto his shoulder and curled her warm body around his neck like a stole.

Her body was exceedingly warm, but in the chill of the dungeon, it was like the allure of the warm fire on a winter day. He placed his hand on her back, and the otter purred at him, snuggling into his neck

He was never sure where or when the otter would show up. Ever since he’d untangled her paws from the Muggle plastic soda can ring while he was out hunting for gillyweed, she would follow after him just about everywhere. He would make long strides to get to his next place, and she bounced after him, scrambling on the wet rocks and turf in order to follow him.

When he had left the ocean, basket in hand as he prepared to Apparate, the otter had still been bouncing after him from the shore. The last he had seen her that first day was her attempting to reach him as his Disapparate took him back to Hogwarts, leaving the lonely otter on the shore where he knew she belonged.

The next time he was out hunting gillyweed, she had been there again, swimming on her back as she smashed a rock into the abalone on her chest. She swam to him, diving and surfacing around him. It was as if she knew what he wanted. She dove down for a few minutes and returned, carrying a clump of precious gillyweed up for him.

This time when he tried to leave again, she followed after him more fiercely, hopping into his herb basket and demanding to go with him.

He set her out.

She hopped back in.

He set her out again, finding himself talking to her and telling her why it would be silly for a sea otter to go with him to Hogwarts.

She hopped back in, staring at him with brown eyes that were so dark they could have been black. She placed her wet webbed paws on his hand and stared up at him with something that stirred a resonance in Severus’ long-guarded heart. Trust. She trusted him.

Severus placed his hand on her head, and she bumped into it affectionately. Severus felt something akin to pain rise in his chest, not so unlike the venom of Nagini that had tried its best to kill him so long ago. What was this feeling?

The otter clambered up his robes and curled around his neck, her warmth snuggling into his skin and sending a shudder down his body. Comfort. How long had it been since anyone or anything had deigned his worth of such a simple thing?

Then, Severus Snape did the most impulsive thing he’d ever done in his life short of bringing a half prophecy to the ex-Dark Lord—he Disapparated back to Hogwarts with the otter around his neck.

And so it began, the unlikely friendship of an old and tired Potion Master that had been too stubborn to die when a giant snake had done her best to make it happen. It was a friendship between him and a lonely sea otter who had the misfortune to get stuck in Muggle soda rings but fortunate to have an unlikely saviour. She followed him everywhere. She curled around his neck while he taught classes, slept in his cauldrons when he waited for him to return from his stuffy staff meetings, and nudged down books from his bookshelf. He swore to Merlin she wanted him to read to her. He did, oddly enough, read to her.

At first he had felt a bit silly doing so, like reading to himself seemed strange enough, but she would curl up in his lap as he read. He would stroke her back or her belly as he read to her, and it seemed that as he did so, a bit of Snape’s rusted heart gained a drop of gear turning oil.

If someone knocked on his door, she would often dive into the dark spots of his chambers, not coming out until it was quiet again. She seemed to realise that while she could get away with wrapping herself around his neck during his classes, it was her job not to reveal herself to too many people. Students would rarely see her, and even when they did, they wouldn’t dare look overly long or question Severus Snape. Ingrained fear of the elder Potion Master took care of that. Whether she knew that it also protected him from scrutiny as well, he didn’t know, but there was a strange bond between them that seemed to be growing between the. Every touch, sound, a soft word, or cheerful chirp melted a little more of his heart.

She slept nestled against him every night, sometimes curled around his neck, sometimes curled beside his face, and sometimes his arm would go around her body and pull her close like a treasured stuffed toy. He would draw her into his warmth under the covers as the sounds of his soft snores filled the room. She would wake him in the morning in time for him to get ready for his classes. She would tug on his sleeve when it was time to go to bed, and frolic in the bathtub as he soaked his aching muscles in it. She would lay on her back, floating on the surface, seemingly enjoying his company—asking for nothing, but giving so much more to the lonely Potion Master.

He would sometimes soap her up, using some of the scented oils that he would catch her sniffing curiously from time to time. He’d then step out of the tub, wrap a towel around himself, and then scoop her up, drying her off with a chuckle as she attempted to groom the oil back into her fur.

He realised one afternoon that he had no idea what to call her. He didn’t even call her “otter.” He referred to her in his mind as “her” or “she,” but it came with an image of her sleeping in the bottom of his cauldrons. His image of her in his mind was her laying atop the soapy suds of his bathtub rather than a name. He pondered how he had found her as he hunted for gillyweed.

“I think I’ll call you Gil, short for gillyweed, since that is how I found you,” Severus said to her.

The sea otter stared at him with her dark eyes and placed her webbed paws against his calf. He gave her a small private smile, picking her up and cradling her. She settled into his arms comfortably, exuding a comforting warmth.

There were times when he would fall asleep on the mountain of paperwork he was grading. Sometimes, while he was waiting on a recipe to finish brewing, she would weave herself under his arm and serve as a pillow for him. He would wake up, having drooled on her for an untold number of hours, and she would rub her whiskers against his chin and squeak at him before grooming the drool off her oily coat.

Sometimes, as he found himself with a spoon in hand and a recipe in the other, the ingredient he would need would be conveniently located down the counter. Gil would bounce down the counter, weaving through the cauldrons and the beakers, snatch either the bowl or container of herbs he was needing, and drag it back to him. The first time he had just stared at her in disbelief until his potion tried to boil over. She had chittered at him, sounding like a small version of himself yelling at a first year for being a dunderhead. Severus had laughed. It was a genuine laugh. He dropped the spoon and the recipe, cauldron be damned and hugged Gil to him tightly.

The otter stared at him as if he’d lost his gourd, and perhaps, the thought, he’d never have one to begin with. He vanished the contents of his failed potion, started again, and this time propped up the recipe on a stand next to the cauldron. Gil sprawled in front of it, looking like the attentive student in one of his classes, watching him as he brewed. All he would have to do was think of a certain ingredient, and if it weren't there in front of him, she would tear off across the counter and fetch it for him. After the potion finished brewing, he’d bottle it up, clean up the mess, and draw Gil into his arms and carry her with him. Sometimes she’d chatter at him as if she were having a conversation. He found himself listening to her as though he could understand her. There were times, when he closed his eyes, her sounds almost became words, but then the moment would be broken.

Classes came and went. Seasons swept by, and they often took summer trips together to the ocean, where they went hunting for gillyweed together. She would come up with abalones, lobsters, and all sorts of odd “foods,” attempting to share with him the spoils.

Severus wasn’t sure how to thank her for the giant lobster she had hauled up from the sea floor. She seemed perfectly happy to accept the touch of his hand and the sound of his voice in payment. She would bring up long strands of sea mussels for him from time to time, and he found that nothing quite beat the taste of them boiled in the seawater there by the shore.

He would sit on the shore, eating his seafood, as the sounds of an otter’s teeth cracking open a shellfish or the beating of a rock against a shell provided its strange ambiance.

He ended up spending many an afternoon sitting on the shores of Black Lake or at the docks. His bare feet hung into the water as Gil dove in and swam about, diving down into the surf playfully, and sometimes bringing him up odd plants he could use in his potions.

He found he looked forward to what book she would knock off his shelf back in his chambers, or find whatever cauldron she had stuffed herself into as she patiently waited for him to return. She had become a fixture in his life, warmth, and something that touched him a way he never thought he could feel.

Time passed, and he was growing slower, the ravages of two wars and all that he had survived were catching up with him, but Gil never left his side. He wondered if somehow he had unintentionally formed the familiar bond. Somehow, he had bound her to his life with that one act of compassion so many years ago. She too, he noticed, was slowing down. She never failed to wait for him. She never failed to tip his books over in his chambers. She would sit in his lap or fetch him aquatic plants and potion ingredients.

To one such as he, who had known her when she was “young,” he could not help but see the slowing of her dives. He noticed the slowing of her breaths and her lingering desire to be around his neck rather than bounce around over his potion counters. It was taking her more effort to climb in and out of places such as cauldrons, and she relied on him more to lift her out of places that had once offered her no challenge.

He confessed to her when no one but the two of them were there that she had become special to him—something that was uniquely his. He admitted once in a drunken haze on the anniversary of Lily Potter’s death, to something profound. He told her that had Gil been a witch instead of an otter, he would have married her without hesitation and given her what little remained of his tortured and lonely life. He saw her as someone beautiful, kind, and forgiving. He saw her as a witch rather than an otter. He blurted that he didn’t deserve her, but he was beyond glad that she was there.

Gil had curled up around his neck has he passed out by the fireplace, snuggling into him as she always had. She was there when he woke, as she always was. She offered him no judgement when he stumbled around looking for the hangover potion, even when he accidentally stepped on her tail, causing her to cry out in pain.

Severus had scooped her up and cradled her in his arms, hugging to him with a strange mixture of fear and self-loathing. He had bandaged her tail after rubbing ointment on her, and then cradled her against him as he shoved every bottle of alcohol he had directly into the fireplace. He had never consumed alcohol again.

The house-elves had become adept at sneaking Gil all sorts of fresh seafood to keep her healthy, and part of Severus wondered where they were getting it. He was grateful, however, that they took such keen interest in making sure she had all the foods she needed. Severus had come to find comfort in the tap-tap-tapping of a rock against shell that came from his chambers and the smell of sea water, kelp, and salt. The piles of plundered sea urchins husks, crab exoskeletons, abalone shells, clam shells, empty snails, sea stars, and all manner of other otter foods were a testament to the otter’s varied diet. Sometimes she would pry open an urchin with her teeth and offer him some of the prized golden flesh that lay within the broken shell. She looked at him with such a strange need for approval that he tentatively plucked a piece of the golden urchin within the prickly exterior and ate it while she watched. Once she was sure he had eaten it, she went back to feeding herself. Severus wasn’t sure what was more strange at that point, the fact his otter was feeding him or the fact he liked the taste of what she was feeding him.

Severus crafted her a seascape in his chambers, complete with sea stones and a tidal pool, kept it stocked with kelp and living sea animals for her to use at her leisure. She seemed to appreciate it greatly. Every night, however, no matter how much fun she was having in her tidal pool, she would crawl out and join him in his bed. She would curl up against his body and join him in sleep.

Those fortunate enough to see the inside of Severus’ chambers often boggled why he kept his room like a seascape. They admitted, begrudgingly, that it was one heck of a seascape, and they’d have loved to have on in their room as well.

Drama ensued when he became the appointed Headmaster once again. Severus had to move his seascape into the Headmaster’s Office, much to the raised eyebrows of just about every ex-Headmaster’s portrait on the wall.

Albus and Minerva proved to be just as adept at sticking their noses into his business as they had in life. Strangely, however, Minerva had caught sight of Gil for the first time and stopped her daily ribbings about his health. Gil was, she noted, well versed in serving as Severus’ alarm clock, time calendar, task mistress, and a friendly ear. The dutiful otter continued to balance his life, stabilise his moods, and knock books off his bookshelf.

He, fulfilling his duty to her, never failed to read to her each night from whatever book she knocked over. Whether it was Advanced Potion Making, Studies in Animal Intelligence, Divination: Real or Rubbish, or Transfiguration Monthly, he would read to her with the same contentment.

He found that being Headmaster the second time around was far less stressful as his first, and now that he no longer taught classes, the fact he was slowing down did not seem so horrible. He no longer had to sprint brazenly across the classroom to rescue students from potion explosions, nor did he have to patrol the hallways like a night prowler looking for trouble and miscreants.

Now that he was Headmaster, no one questioned that he had a familiar, nor did they ponder how an animal such as she would find the company of the grumpy Headmaster agreeable.

It seemed that people appreciated his skill as Headmaster far more than they had as a Potion Master and Professor. The school flourished in a way that students gained the highest of marks in decades, there was less in fighting between the Houses, and conflict seemed restricted to the Quidditch pitch. Even the staff got along. That included Severus and the newly appointed Professor Longbottom, whom he swore, if the man ever took a step into the potion’s classroom on his watch, he would sack him immediately. After that one incident, however, the two men got off rather well, and Neville had once said that Snape having found a familiar was perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Strangely enough, Snape found he couldn’t argue. Gil was more than just a long-lived otter. She was his friend, his confidant, his familiar, and so much more than words could express.

Years continued to pass, and grey hairs replaced all of the satin black that had once been Severus’ hair. Grey had crept into Gil’s whiskers and slowly started to sneak into her dark brown fur, giving her a salt and pepper fur look. She could no longer sneak into his cauldrons and chose instead to lay on her back as she floated in her small marine habitat. He would carry her on his shoulders more often now, not wishing to leave her alone to wait up for him. She would snuggle into him gratefully, offering the comfort of her warmth.

As Severus and Gil sat on the shore during the summer with the latest basket of gillyweed sitting beside them, Severus knew it would be the last time they would see the sea together. His body was slowing down. The strain of Apparating was almost too much for his old bones. He had watched her play in the surf; the shadow of the younger otter bouncing in the waves made him smile. She brought him another lobster, and he had smiled.

“What a wonder you are,” he said to her, running his hand over her fur. “Whatever insanity made you bind yourself to me?”

Gil didn’t answer. She simply curled around his neck and breathed into his ear, snuggling into his hair.

They returned to Hogwarts after watching the sun set over the ocean. He held that image in his mind with the image of Gil playing in the water and along with the one of her dragging him up a lobster from the ocean floor. They were such small things, yet they were far more significant than appearances.

As he lay in bed, Gil’s face pressed into his face, and she licked his cheek. He ran his hand over her fur with a sad smile. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered. “I fear that was our last trip to the ocean together. This body is old and done.”

Gil snuggled against his face; her breath tickled his cheek and nose. He pulled her against him, letting the warmth of her fur press against his skin.

Days passed, and Gil would wake first, as she always did. She would tug his sleeve and pull down his quilt to get him up. He would rouse slower each time, preferring to stay in bed longer, or fall asleep in his chair, or during the staff meetings. Sometimes, he would fall asleep reading to her, but the otter never seemed to mind. She would nuzzle the book closed with her face, tug it out of his lap, and then curl up in Severus’ lap and close her eyes. His hand would always lay upon her back.

One morning that seemed to be like so many others, Severus pulled her close to him, his breathing was slow and growing shallow. He held her close, running his hands down her silken fur. “I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered softly. “I fear I have nothing left to give.” He held her tightly to him; his hands sank into her fur as his face pressed into her warm body. “We gave it our best, didn’t we, love?” he said, staring into the otter’s dark eyes. He stroked the top of her head and ran his thumb over her whiskers. “I think…” his voice trailed off. “I think I loved you best.” Severus’ breath rattled, and his eyes closed.

Gil pressed her face into his, rubbing up against it. She moved under his hands as if his hands were petting her. She placed her paws against his pale face; age wrinkles covered his once finely chiselled cheekbones. She gave a mournful cry, pressing her paws into his face as she pressed up and down upon his cheek with her paws. There were tears coming down the otter’s cheeks.

Gil sank against Severus’ still form, moving her body under his hand to place it on her back and pressed her muzzle against his cheek, her body shaking as tears came down her muzzle. Her body shook, her breaths became laboured, and then the faithful otter’s body went still, her eyes closed, and she joined her Master in death.

It was there that the staff of Hogwarts found them, curled together as they had in life—one well guarded Potion Master, Headmaster, and Professor and his unlikely friend. They were interred together, with the other heroes of their time, near the graves of those such as Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall.

It was together they were painted in the Headmaster’s portrait—one man, a Dark Wizard, a traitor, a hero, a teacher, and his beloved otter, Gil. No one knew where she had come from, but to one Headmaster Severus Snape, she had been his world, and he had been hers. And when Neville Longbottom moved into the Headmaster’s office, he kept the tidal pool. He stated the bravest man he had ever known had crafted it, and he would see it stay as a reminder. The reminder would be that the greatest of hearts could belong to the most humble of beings whether it be man or otter.

Sometimes, when Neville looked out his window to Black Lake, he would see a figure draped in shadow. The figure would sit with their legs in the water. Near him, the shape of an otter played in the surf below him, but then he would blink, and they would disappear like phantoms.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Severus woke, his eyes squinting in the brightness of it all. He placed his hand over his heart and winced, remembering the cumulation of his life.

He stood in the light, wondering what would await him in this beyond past the Veil. He had no one to wait for him here. Lily was an unrequited love; he did not expect her to greet him here. His greatest love had come down to one lone female otter who had the tenacity to weave herself into his life and accept him.

Gil.

Would he see her here in this afterworld? Was he doomed to be alone even here in the world beyond life?

Severus felt a pang of emotion. How pathetic could one man be, falling for a sea mammal who probably didn’t even feel human emotion? He had been such a romantic fool. He let his mind tell him that she was so much more than just a sea mammal. He felt he was doomed to play out unrequited love forever. He would suffer through each life to the next with the same heartache.

“Severus?”

Severus’ head snapped up immediately. He saw a shadow in the white haze approaching him. He recognised that voice. Who?

He took a few strides forward and found himself stepping on someone’s foot.

There was a short laugh. “At least you’re not drunk this time,” the voice said softly, sadly. “You wouldn’t happen to have bandages and ointment in your robes?”

“Gil?” Severus whispered.

“It’s me,” the voice said with a choke. “Forgive me, I could not leave you alone to face life. I loved you too much to see you suffer the remainder of it without a friend.”

The white haze was fading, and he made out the long curling tresses of a strangely familiar, older, elder witch. Her hair was silver and brown, looking so much like Gil’s fur.

“Hermione?” Severus said.

“Please don’t hate me,” she said, tears going down her face. “I couldn’t bear it.”

Severus placed his palm on her cheek; his thumb brushed the tears from her face. “I,” So many emotions coursed through him. He turned his face away.

Hermione’s shoulders slumped, her dark brown eyes closed in resignation of her ultimate betrayal done for all the right reasons, but it was a betrayal none the less. “I’m sorry,” she said with a half sob, she turned away from him, a part of her knowing that betrayal was the one thing Severus could not abide. She took her agonising step away from him, forcing herself to retreat into the haze.

His hand was on her shoulder, pulling her back. His palms were on her cheeks. “I could never hate you, Hermione,” he whispered. He stared into her eyes, looking into her aged face. Her eyes— they were Gil’s eyes—warm, accepting, loving, and his. His, if only he would claim them. “I… love you.”

Hermione had tears running down her face again.

As if to prove his sincerity, Severus pressed his lips to hers, and Hermione gave a soft cry as she wrapped her arms around him. He poured his love for Gil into her. He remembered every night he had spent reading to her. He recalled every day by the sea, every class with her curled around his neck, and every time he had looked down into his brewing cauldron to find her waiting for him.

When they finally pulled away, Hermione’s hand was on his cheek. “You’re young again,” she whispered.

Severus looked into her face and saw that she too no longer looked as old as she once did. She looked much as she did after the second war, young and vibrant. He stared into her face, and a tear ran down his cheek.

Hermione looked at him warmly. “I love you, Severus Snape. Will you stay with me until the end of all things?”

Severus drew her into a kiss, his mouth covering hers in need, release, and completion. When he pulled away, his black eyes met hers as he gave her a genuine smile. “Always.”

Hermione’s answering smile was his sun and his moon as she pulled him into her arms.

And so it began. Two souls combined and were intertwined forever through time. Brother and sister, father and daughter, mother and son, lovers, or one wizard and his familiar, they remained together throughout it all.

Always.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: I don’t know why I write these stories. I went through a BOX of tissues writing it! Why would I do that to myself?! Ending was happy, dang it! HAPPY! *sniffle* AHHHHHH!

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don’t know why I write these stories. I went though like a BOX of tissues writing it! Why would I do that to myself?! Ending was happy, dang it! HAPPY! *sniffle* AHHHHHH!  
> Please tell me what you think. *SOB* I need to know I’m not alone.


End file.
